


lemon boy and i

by vapid



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji-centric, Akaashi likes to write in his free time, Baking, Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Suggestive Themes (teensy bit)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24757675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vapid/pseuds/vapid
Summary: Keiji's suffering from a bout of writer's block. Maybe Osamu can help him out with that.What to do when life gives you lemons? In Akaashi Keiji’s case, he writes about them.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Comments: 31
Kudos: 199





	lemon boy and i

It’s been about four hours, and Keiji simply cannot write. Mind jammed, void of anything except for the sounds of rummaging from the kitchen and traffic from three floors below filtering through the half open window.

He twirls his favorite pen in his hand, watching light dance off the stainless steel, white flares blooming in his vision. Cross Century Classic; a gift from Osamu. Satin black with gold accents, _it reminded me of you_ , he’d said.

Keiji has always found comfort in this pen, the smell of good quality ink scrawled over red and blue lines; an uncanny feeling of a corporal connection to whatever he’s writing, like he’s pouring his guts onto the table for only himself to see. 

But today, for some reason, not even pen and paper could help him color out the blankness in his head.

Sighing, Keiji stares down at the dismal state of his notebook, empty space and worn yellow edges frayed from too much absentminded touching. _He_ feels frayed on the edges. He pushes his glasses up slightly and rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, the strength in his arm fueled by his frustration, dark circles painted underneath. 

“Keiji? Baby?”

Keiji stills. He looks up and his eyes are met with Osamu’s; dark, filled with quiet warmth. Hair tousled from a quick shower, droplets gathering in the base of his neck. Keiji smiles.

“‘Samu,” Keiji's voice is hushed and he exhales a little when Osamu reaches a hand out, fingers brushing against his face, thumb caressing a pale cheek. 

“Ya look tired,” Osamu’s gaze is worried, eyes tracing the dots scrunched on Keiji’s forehead and the shadows sitting beneath black framed glasses. 

“Oh, I’m fine,” Keiji says, worn out heart flickering faintly at the firm heaviness of Osamu’s hand cupping his face. “Just…writer’s block.”

“Hm,” Osamu hums. His hand drops from Keiji’s cheek to his back, mapping out the strains in his muscles. “Isn’t there anything I can do ta help?”

Keiji focuses his gaze on the empty lines in his notebook. Osamu…It’s his day off today, so no need for any Onigiri Miya-tending. He’d also already gone on their bi-weekly round of grocery shopping which Keiji had to skip out on. He remembers reading the shopping list placed on the table earlier this morning. Eggs. Milk. Negi. Mushrooms. Lemons.

Lemons?

Ah. Right. Osamu had said something about lemon pies. _I wanted ta try my hand at desserts,_ were his words, a childlike glint of excitement in his eyes. 

Keiji perks up at the memory, a faint wisp of an idea stirring in his head for the first time today.

“Say…didn’t you pick up some lemons earlier today?”

Osamu blinks. “What?”

Keiji stifles a laugh at the look of confusion on his face. With a huff, he pushes himself up from his chair, legs a little wobbly. The world spins in front of his eyes and patches of green and violet stain his vision; it’s not a feeling one should ever get used to, but Keiji welcomes it. Your typical writer’s excuse for a short break.

He steps around the table to where Osamu is standing, still waiting for an explanation on the out-of-the-blue lemon question. Keiji chuckles and leans in, planting a soft kiss on his cheek. A smile lingers on his lips. 

“Won’t you make something sweet for me, ‘Samu?”

* * *

  
  


What to do when life gives you lemons? In Akaashi Keiji’s case, he writes about them.

_「 Lemons. Yellow skin, rough to the touch._ _Mint green nub. Shape: strangely oval. 」_

Keiji leans on the dining table, fingers gripping his pen as he jots down anything and everything that comes to mind. He bounces the weight of a lemon in his other hand, holding it under the patch of sun streaming through the window. 

He glances over at Osamu, currently making the crust for the pie. Graham crackers. Butter. A little sugar. Osamu looks up and catches Keiji staring; he smiles in return, eyes turning into little crescent moons and Keiji feels his heart sputter in his chest. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this feeling.

Osamu is always beautiful, but he’s the most beautiful right now, in between the hours of two to five on a cloudless afternoon. Breezy wind in his hair, buzzed on the ends, texture soft against fingertips. His eyes are always clear, pools to dive into on a summer’s day. His hands work away tirelessly, submerged in his passion, pouring his heart out into everything he touches.

For Keiji, loving Osamu is watching him cut lemons. He stares as Osamu works with the rinds, eyebrows scrunched up cutely, tongue peeking out a little in the left corner of his mouth. Osamu also has absurdly pretty fingers. Keiji fixates on this fact while Osamu runs a vegetable peeler up and down the lemon. Fluid motions.

_「 Lemons. Sliced. Yellow rings, white rings, yellow rings again. Segmented fruit, slightly paler than its skin. Thin white lines that converge in the middle. 」_

Osamu finds a clear bowl in the cabinet. Condensed milk first, fresh lemon juice second, then a splash of egg yolk. Keiji watches as Osamu whisks away, weirdly drawn to the sound. Or maybe he’s drawn to Osamu’s arms. These are two things that don’t need to be mutually exclusive, Keiji thinks.

“What’re ya starin’ at?” A smooth voice drifts through his head and Keiji blinks.

Like an out-of-body experience, Keiji feels the pen falter in his hand. Glancing down, his eyes widen at the sight of his notebook nearly entirely filled, lines and lines of words beyond mere descriptions of lemons. A flame flickers inside him and he feels adrenaline rush through his body at the all-too-welcomed return of inspiration. _Finally_.

“Pretty neat how yer able ta stare at me ‘n write at the same time.” There’s amusement in Osamu’s voice. 

Keiji looks back up from his notebook with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, am I distracting you…?” 

“Nah,” Osamu says easily, still whipping the lemon mixture. “I know I’ve said this before, but ya look cute when yer all focused like that.”

Keiji flushes, warmth spreading across his face. “Stop it.”

Osamu hums. “‘Kay. I love you.” 

Not to exaggerate, but Keiji thinks he might die before the lemon pie is finished.

_「 Lemons. Sour to the tongue, sharp; coupled with a frown at first, but it leaves behind a sweet, distinct fragrance. Happy aftertaste. A happy fruit. 」_

The oven stops with a ding and Osamu reaches for his oven gloves. The only thing Keiji can think of is, _how soft._ Not very poetic, but you really can’t blame him when Osamu, in his black shirt that's pressed snugly against his chest and dark grey sweatpants, pulls on the pair of old pink oven gloves his grandmother had given him as a keepsake. It just fits. 

Osamu yelps a little when the heat of the oven brushes his arm lightly. Keiji’s mind is suddenly a broken record. _How soft. How very soft_.

The sweet smell of baked graham crust fills the room. Osamu sets the crust down with a huff, letting it sit for a while. In the meantime, Keiji doodles on his page. He’s not exactly the best artist the world. The colorless lemon looks a little funky, but it’s fine. Keiji looks up again when he hears rustling, and he stops drawing just to watch Osamu pour the mixture into the crust. The oven lights up once more, beams of deep orange; whirring.

_「 Lemon pie. Pale yellow, dark beige. The sound of an oven is surprisingly calming. 」_

It takes a few more hours until the pie is cooled. Keiji helps out with cleanup; Osamu kisses him more times than he can count. 

After wrapping the baked pie neatly and storing it into the refrigerator, Osamu lets out a loud, satisfied sigh. Keiji's sitting in his chair again and he watches as Osamu carefully places the pink gloves back in their original spot, the sound of running water echoing around the apartment when Osamu turns back to wash his hands in the sink. After everything's cleared out and wiped down with a towel, Osamu looks over to where Keiji is sitting, a gleam of something indiscernible in his eyes.

“How’s the writing comin’ along?” Osamu inches closer, putting an arm on both sides of the table and encasing Keiji in his own space.

“Good. Great, actually.” Keiji doesn’t know why he’s mumbling. Maybe it’s the slow breathing, or the heat from Osamu's body. Maybe it’s the way Osamu smells faintly of lemons. 

“Hmm,” Osamu leans in closer, his lips brushing Keiji's ear. “Y’know, the pie won’t be ready until about another five hours, minimum…” 

Keiji jumps a little when Osamu nibbles his ear gently, feeling shivers run from his head to the tips of his toes.

“So no more writer’s block, then?” Osamu traces Keiji’s arm, drawing lazy circles on his skin. Keiji feels air stuck in his throat, unable to stop the pounding in his heart while Osamu's fingers continue to travel upwards, to his shoulder, his collarbone, the line of his neck. “Y’know, I was thinking that we—”

Keiji thinks he already knows what Osamu’s thinking, and so he decides to turn and shut him up with his mouth instead. Behind them is a searing sun, painting the room in pretty mellow. _Osamu looks prettier though_ , Keiji thinks as he cups Osamu’s face in his hands. His hair is pushed back, lined with a thin sheen of sweat; his dark eyes earnest, filled with hunger. Nothing’s prettier than Osamu.

He tastes zesty, a light breeze in early July.

* * *

What to do when life gives you lemons? In Miya Osamu’s case, he bakes them in a pie and eats it with the love of his life.

_「 Lemon pie. Creamy, tangy, fresh taste of summer. Let it sit on the tongue for a few seconds. Let it melt. 」_

**Author's Note:**

> hi!!! i actually wrote this piece trying to get over my own writer's block :') i hope you liked it! 
> 
> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/inumvkis)!!


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